Shadow Moon

Ex-con demigod Shadow Moon lands himself in the middle of a modern American Norse Egyptian Slavic Germanic Ghanaian rendition of the Titanomachy.

“No gallows humor. Yeah. You know, I’m not superstitious. I believe in plenty when there’s reason and evidence to believe. I don’t believe in anything I can’t see. I feel like there’s a fucking axe hanging over my head. You know, I can’t see it, but I believe it. I smell snow.” — Shadow Moon

“I love you. Something feels weird. I don’t know. Um… the weather. The air feels constipated, like if it’d just push out a storm, it’d be okay. Five days. Everything’s okay there, right? Yeah. So nothing’s wrong. A surprise party? Not a thing. I love you, too.” — Shadow Moon

“Yes, sir. 200$? I have to get to Eagle Point, yeah. It’s for a funeral. I don’t know Johnnie Larch. One of those ‘behaviors that work inside a specialized environment such as prison but can fail to work when outside such an environment’ sort of situations. How much for a flight tomorrow? Hey, Robbie. Uh… they tell me Laura’s dead. Let me out early. Coming home. This lady is sitting in it. 5D times two. Now do you see the problem? Just point to one, and I’ll take it. Really? Uh, never flown before. Sorry. No. It’s– you’re just the first person I’ve talked to who wasn’t an asshole. Ohh. Nice work on the upgrade. Straight-up sympathy play, huh? It’s risky. Uh, good Samaritan. You know, gentleman’s curve, if I was a traveling man. Mm-mm. No, sir, not me. Shadow Moon. Hippie parent. Yeah. She had the whole kit. And if I was inclined, what might I call you? Wednesday. Thanks. Uh, casinos. Yeah, and some small time. Hmm? Yeah. Better at the small than big. Who needs work when you’re rich, huh? No, thank you, but I already have a job waiting for me at my buddy’s gym. And I told you, I got a job. Oh, great. I slept through first class. How many miles is it from here?” — Shadow Moon

“Uh, what can I get for next to nothing? Yeah. My wife makes a great chili. I can’t afford both and gas. Okay, I said fuck off politely as many ways as I’m gonna. Now I’m fixing to be direct. I don’t want your fucking job. What about his condition? The fuck do you know about Robbie? You’re right. I’m broke. I don’t have a job. But you know, I’m not gonna work for anyone who’s got worse luck than me, so call. Yeah. Tails. I rigged the toss. It is always going to be tails because I don’t want to work for you. You’re a little creepy, and you’re forward and familiar, and I don’t like it. I don’t like you. Tails. Every fucking time. Who are you? Okay, you’re a little tall for a leprechaun. So what, you’re from Ireland? No details. What is it? Tastes like prison hooch, brewed in a garbage bag with rotten fruit. We don’t have a bargain. Fine. You’ve told me what you want, but you want to know what I want? I just want to go to my wife’s funeral. Okay? I just want to say goodbye. Now after that, yeah, fine, I’ll work for you for $2,000 a week. You want me to hurt people? Well, I’ll hurt people if they try and hurt you. I’m not gonna hurt anyone for fun or profit. I’ll work for you up to which point you start to piss me off, and then I’m gone. How’d you do it? So what, you loaded coins up your sleeves? How’d you do it? Yeah? I’m not fighting you. We’re done.” — Shadow Moon

“I know I’m in pain. Oh. And I know I recently said yes to something stupid. Did he teach me that trick? Where’s my car? Audrey. I’m sorry about Robbie, okay? He was a really good friend, and I know he loved you like crazy. So did Laura. What did you do, Laura? And what was it? Was it a one-time thing the night before I got back? Ah, that’s– that’s a ‘we’re in this together’ thing. W-was it love? Because if you were going to leave, you could have just told me, okay? I could’ve taken it. You know, I had a surprise for you. I read when I was in. Mainly history. Six books a week for three years. 813 books. 8 and 13– Fibonacci numbers. And I know that why? Because four of them were about math. I like math. Who knew? I just wanted to come back better than when I went in… for you. I wanted to be a part of your history. God damn it, Laura. Audrey– how long were they– no, I’m not. People did enough talking today. I think someone might’ve actually said she’s in a better place. I’m not sure. Audrey– I appreciate the offer, but– no, no, no, no. Stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop. Oh. Don’t, Audrey. Audrey, don’t. I can’t do this. Look, hold on. Wait. Audrey!” — Shadow Moon

“Okay. I won’t. Uh, but if you could just drop me off at the Motel America– got it. Yeah. No, thank you. Well, it’s not tobacco, and it ain’t weed. Smells like an appliance fire. Hmm. I started working for Mr. Wednesday this morning. No, I’m just an errand boy. Okay, w-well, y-you’re saying all this like I’m supposed to know what the fuck you’re talking about. Thanks. We barely exchanged a dozen words. But you can let me out here and I’ll walk the rest of the way. Telling you I don’t know. Probably not. As you say, I work for Mr. Wednesday. You know, I was curious myself how long you would go on sucking your own dick.” — Shadow Moon

“Yeah, well, you either got it or you don’t.” — Shadow Moon

“I think that… we’re all fucked any way it comes out. You know? So… saying that before it happens is just playing the odds.” — Shadow Moon

Laura Moon

“Hello? I love you, too. What feels weird? It’s nice here. The trees are budding. There’ll be leaves on them when you get back. 120 hours till you’re home. Waiting for the sky to fall is going to cause more brother than the sky actually falling, which it isn’t. Everything’s fine. Robbie’s coming by. We’re planning your surprise party welcome home. Which you know nothing about. I love you, puppy.” — Laura Moon

“Do you ever worry what will happen if you keep stealing? No. I mean, like, jail. Do you believe in the afterlife? Yeah, I think that might sound wiser than it is. Yes, I do. You rot. When you die, you rot. Yeah. I mean, it’s– it’s a fixed system. Physics doesn’t take Sundays off. There’s nothing to believe. Trust me. I’ve looked. I mean, my parents believed in everything. Father, son, Holy Ghost, spirit-filled and full of the light of God. They taught me all of it, chapter and verse. I went to bed every night in a world full of magic where anything was possible. And then one day you find out that Santa’s not real, and then the Tooth Fairy isn’t real. And there’s no farm upstate for old dogs. Then I started reading history books, and Jesus isn’t real. And it’s like everything that made the world anything more than what it is is just– is just stories. Just snake oil, but worse because snakes are real. I wanted to get that magic back so bad, but… one day I just accepted the fact that I couldn’t because life is just not that interesting. Don’t look at me like that. It’s like you’re a lost puppy.” — Laura Moon

Low Key Lyesmith

“Best thing, only good thing about being in prison, is the relief. You don’t worry if they’re going to get you when they already got you. tomorrow can’t do anything today hasn’t already managed. Even better with a death sentence. Bang. Worst has already happened. You get a few days to let it sink in, and then you’re riding the cart on the way to do your dance on nothing. This country went to hell when they stopped hanging folks. No gallows dirt, no gallows deals. Funniest fucking shit in the world. Ha ha! I can see it fine. Prison has a way of trying to keep you in prison. They’ll do anything they can to keep you inside with them.” — Low Key Lyesmith

“Do not piss off those bitches in airports. Take a lesson from Johnnie Larch. Johnnie Larch got out after five years. He gets to the airport, hands his ticket to the woman at the counter, who asks for his driver’s license. He gives it to her. She says, ‘it’s expired.’ He says, ‘it might not be a valid drivers license, but it is a damn fine identification. There’s my picture, my weight, and my height. Who the fuck do you think it is?’ She says, ‘I’ll thank you for not using that sort of language with me, sir.’ He says, ‘give me my fucking boarding pass right fucking now.’ Now, he has the right to take that tone. She was disrespecting him. You don’t let people disrespect you in prison. Why the fuck would he let her disrespect him as a free man? Mm-mm. She hit a button. Security shows up. He’s back in prison. You understand what I’m saying right now? No, dummy. I’m saying do not piss off those bitches in airports.” — Low Key Lyesmith

Mr. Wednesday

“I bought it. I d– I did! I did. I-I’ve got to get to my son’s christening. Hmm? I– I bought a first class ticket. I– I sent a check. Look, th-there’s– th-there’s my name. I got to get back. He was only born ten days ago. We– we named him– we– we named him– oh, no, no, no, no, no. My son always travels with me. He takes care of everything, all the bills. I’ve just got to get back for his christening, and everything will be all right. He– he’ll take care of me. First class? Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Mm-hmm. Thank you. I guess this must be your lucky day, huh? Cashews. Love ’em. Native to Brazil but grow like motherfuckers in Florida. Mm-hmm. Yeah, but you’re not going to, are you? Because you would have said ‘I need to take your drink, sir’ or ‘I’m gonna have to take that drink, sir,’ neither of which happened. So don’t worry about it. I’ll hold her very tight while you pour my friend here a Jack and Coke and get me another one, hmm? Thank you. Are you nervous? Nothing to it. Just sit back and be a bird and drink up. I offer you the worm from my beak, and you look at me like I fucked your mom? Give me time. Airlines are the ultimate clip joint. They deserve that and worse. What would you have done, my boy? Oh, which you are not. Seems like a firm decision made for good reasons. I can respect that. A man gets out of prison, he should concentrate above all on not going back. Oh, don’t worry about me. I got an eye for these things. Just the one, but I can see that you’re not used to the fresh air, but I don’t see the joy of being out. Also, you lost something vital in there, not just time. What should I call you if I were so inclined? Oh, my boy, that is one outstandingly improbably name. Shadow Moon. Moon Shadow. Goddamn hippie parents. Mama had a big afro, huh? ‘Dancing Queen,’ hmm? What’s today? Hmm. Today’s my day. Let’s go with that, huh? Thank you so much, darling. Ah. Hmm. Always good to meet a fellow traveler, Shadow– oh. Excuse me. I’m sorry. But when you were, what was your downfall? Oh, bang-bang. Big time, huh? All right. Ah! Ah, you got more talent than me. I got two. One is I can sleep anywhere, any time. The other is that I usually end up getting what I want– on average, over time. It’s all about getting people to believe in you. It’s not their cash, it’s their faith. Well, take this plane for example. This 80-ton chub of metal, seat cushions, and Bloody Mary mix has no right to be soaring through the sky, but along comes Newton explaining something about the air flow over the wing creating an uplift or some such shit, none of which makes a lick of sense, but you got 82 passengers back there who believe it so fiercely, the plane continues its journey safely. Now, what’s keeping us aloft? Faith or Newton? Mm. They give you a free little shit kit in first class. You might not have known that. How are you fixed for work? Well, I just happens to be in a hiring position. And I could be Mr. Wednesday with a shake of the hand. I mean, perfectly legal work, for the most part. Good money, open roads, no aggravation– well, a little bit by and by, but, uh, you know, I would have no hesitation hiring an ex-con. Don’t rush into this. Take your time, hmm? No you don’t. I could use a fellow like you. There’s always work for a big guy who’s smart enough to know he’s better off letting people think he’s dumb. Oh, and by the way, did I mention the bonuses? Outstanding benefits. I’ll even throw in a pension if you’d like, and I can tell you what the fuck a pension is. Hell, by the end of your tenure, you could be the next king of America. Ah, of course, of course. Anyway, as a wise man once said, a man gets out of prison, he should be focused above all on not going back. Ah. Don’t rush into it. Ah.” — Mr. Wednesday

“Not that rushing into things can’t be a good thing. Sex rushed into tends to work out best for all involved. Marriages– oh, I grant, they merit an extra moment’s consideration. Oh, apologies, amigo. Insensitive of me to talk about marriage. I am truly, deeply sorry about your wife. Nice obituary, though, I thought. Hmm? Don’t you want to ask me about the job? Ask me about the job. I thought you’d want to reconsider on account of your friend Robbie’s condition and on account of you being broke. More than you, it seems. Robbie Burton is dead. Page 7. If I win, you work for me? Heads. Rigged games are the easiest to beat. It’s not always going to be tails. We’ll negotiate the terms of your employment over a drink. Well, I never. Mad Sweeney as I live and breathe. What a surprise. Southern Comfort and Coke for you. Jack Daniel’s for me. And these are for you, Shadow Moon. Ohh. But sweeter, smoother, stranger. It’s mead– honey wine. Drink of heroes, drink of the gods. It’s a tradition. It seals our bargain. Of course we do. I won the toss. You work for me now. You’re my aide-de-camp. My castellan. Protect and serve. You drive where needs driving to. You take care of things generally on my behalf. And in an emergency, and in an emergency only, you kick the asses of those whose asses require kicking. And in the unlikely event of my death, you will hold my vigil. Damn right I’m a hustler, swindler, cheater, and liar. That’s why I need assistance. Of course I do. Name your price. Good. We have a compact. The second seals the deal, the third is the charm, and we’re done. Hmm. There. You’re my man now. Ah. It’ll be heads. He said he doesn’t want to fight you.” — Mr. Wednesday

“You may have drank a lot. Let it come back to you. So what do you know, huh? That may be true. You know, I believe he did. Don’t suppose you heard him. No such luck. Oh, I dumped it. Red’s not your color, and don’t get used to this. You’re going to be driving Betty here from now on. I just thought you could use some sleep. It’s not every day a man gets to bury his wife. I have preparations and communications to keep me busy enough, after which I will entertain myself. Now I’ll tell you this once and once only ever. Take all the time you need.” — Mr. Wednesday

“Plan is we will meet with a number of people preeminent in their respective fields. And then we will rendezvous at one of the most important places in the entire country. One of the most important places. Opinion is justifiably varied. But we will be stopping in Chicago first. My hammer.” — Mr. Wednesday

“There are bigger sacrifices one might be asked to make than going a little mad.” — Mr. Wednesday

“An oyster. Inside every pearl there’s a single irritating grain of sand. That’s me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. Just like an oyster, you’re trying to cover me up with something smooth and shiny–pretty on a necklace, but inside the shell, that slimy thing just wants that scratchy thing out of there. You say a merger? I hear exile.” — Mr. Wednesday

Mad Sweeney

“Coin tricks, is it? You’re working for our man, then. I’m a leprechaun. That’s a stereotype and represents a very narrow view of the world. I told you I’m a leprechaun. We don’t come from Moscow, Russia. Or Moscow, Idaho, for that matter. How much has our man told you? Devil’s in the details. Do you know who he is? Who he really is? Tastes like a drunken diabetic’s piss. He’s hustling you. He’s a hustler. Well, if it’s coin tricks we’re doing… watch this. Now that’s a coin trick for you. With panache. Sounds like a lot of work to me. It’s easier just to pluck them out of the air. Simplest trick in the world. Tell you what. I’ll fight you for it. Yeah. Ahh. Come on. Real gold, if you’re wondering. Win or lose, and you’re gonna lose. It’s yours if you fight me. Come on. Big fella like you. Who’d have thought you’d be a fucking coward? Whiff of death on the page. Laura Moon. Oh. Is– is this your old lady’s obituary? She was a fine piece of– there’s gonna be a lesson learned! Watch this. Atta boy. Now you’re fighting for the joy of it, for the sheer unholy fucking delight of it! Raah! Raah! Ha ha ha ha ha! Can you feel the joy rising in your veins like the sap in the springtime? It ain’t over till I say it is. Raah!” — Mad Sweeney

Audrey

“Hello, Shadow. It’s nice to see you. Did you escape, or did they, uh, they let you out? Well, not the reunion you were hoping for. Well, she looks pretty. They did a hell of a job reconstructing her face and neck. I think that and the coffin just killed your savings. All so you could have that nice open casket, get one last look at her pretty face. Oh shit, Shadow. No one told you? She did with my husband’s cock in her mouth. Two funerals in a day– husband and best friend. You skipped Robbie’s. That’s fair. I was yelling at mine, too. It doesn’t do any good. It’s just anger makes you feel like you can change the outcome. But there’s no arguing with dead, no debate, because dead wins ten out of ten. So I pissed on him. Not sure. Long time, now that I put things together. Late nights, daytime showers. Dickless piece of shit. That’s not an epithet. That is a literal description. Severed at the root in the crash. Coroner had the nerve to ask me what I wanted to do with it. I told him to leave it where he found it. Relax. They didn’t bury Laura with it still in her mouth. I had them put it somewhere special. Don’t listen to me, Shadow. I lost count on the Ativan. I’m interrupting. You were saying your piece. She’s in Parkview Cemetary. Target would be more interesting than here. If there isn’t some kind of life after death, I’m going to be so pissed. Kicked fucking puppy. I hated you guys as a couple because of this, the way that you looked at her. Robbie did his best to avoid looking at me. Get used to the boot, puppy. There is no closure from the dead. Maybe, you know, three years from now, some therapist will tell you, uh, to write her a letter saying everything you wish you could say to her and drop it in the ocean. And maybe it’ll help. It won’t help. I’m sorry for your loss, shadow. I really am. Anyone tell you that yet? Anyone even hug you? Shit. Well, you just got out of prison. You haven’t been hugged in how long? I read that’s a thing with ex-cons, forgetting what it’s like just to feel someone. Oh, shit. You– you worked out in prison. I have a proposal for closure for us both. No, no. Hear me out. This is a good one. Lex talionis. An eye for an eye, blow job for a blow job, right here where they can see us. My husband and your wife– my best friend– I want them to see it. I want Robbie to watch while I take this gorgeous mans’s cock in my mouth. Pissing on him wasn’t enough. I want you to come in my mouth, I’m going to spit it on his grave. Jesus, who knew I could be so angry? You’re right. Fuck me already. I am trying to get my dignity back here!” — Audrey

Goddess Media

“Not so fast. We need to talk, Shadow. Look at me, Shadow, all in hi-def. We shot the show in 35mm, cutting edge. Looks like hell in the transfer. Funny how things supposed to make you look good only make it worse. I can’t even fill the whole screen. Just little old me. Lucy Ricardo. I’m all sorts, Shadow. The screen is the altar. I’m the one they sacrifice to. Then till now. Golden Age to Golden Age. They sit side by side, ignore each other, and give it up to me. Now they hold a smaller screen on their lap or in the palm of their hand so they don’t get bored watching the big one. Time and attention better than lamb’s blood. Huh. They beat your pretty face all up. I hate that. I hate that they were hurting you, Shadow. I would never do that to you, honey. No, I want to offer you a job. Working for me. I want you in my camp with us. Look at it like this, Shadow: we’re the coming thing. We are already here. We are self-driving cars and 3D printers and subdermal time-release insulin. And your old boss is still selling oranges on the side of the road. Not even organic. We are now and tomorrow… and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. And he ain’t even yesterday anymore. I heard about the trouble you had with the Technical Boy. I was impressed with how you dealt with him. Efficient, no-nonsense, effective. Who’d have thought you had it in you? He was underestimating you, sweetheart. They all are. Not a mistake I’ll make. Whatever the old guys are giving you, I can give you so much more. You name it, honey. You name it, honey. What do you need? Hey, you ever wanted to see Lucy’s tits? Don’t fight gravity, Shadow. I’ve been at this a while, not as long as some, but I’ve seen things. Guys like you end up a suicide every time. I’m trying to help you keep your neck out of the belt.” — Goddess Media

“Mr. World doesn’t want your apology. He would, however, like to regift your apology to Wednesday and his man Shadow Moon. Mr. World expects your apology to be every bit as authentic as if you were apologizing to him directly. There is a terror in knowing what Mr. World is about. Wednesday was suffocating. The spark was smoldering. And then you came along, putting out fire with gasoline. Martyrdom is a popular recruitment tool. And now we have to pluck the fuse out of the fucker before the whole thing blows up in our faces. Apologize. Mass delusions are as old as I am.” — Goddess Media

Czernobog

Zorya Vechernyaya

Technical Boy, the New God of technology

“Hello, Shadow. Don’t fuck with me. Hit him. See, I said don’t fuck with me. Now that, that was fucking with me. Keep your answers short and to the point, or I will fucking kill you, or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just have The Children here break every bone in your fucking body. So don’t fuck with me. You’re working for Wednesday. Smoke? Synthetic toad skins. What the fuck is Wednesday after? What’s the doing here? There’s got to be a plan. What’s the game plan, man? How auspicious. You must be special. Wednesday is history. Forgotten and… old. He should just let it happen. We are the future, and we don’t give a fuck about him or anyone else like him anymore. They are consigned to the dumpster. Now we have reprogrammed reality. Language is a virus. Religion, an operating system, and prayers are just so much fucking spam. The dominant fucking paradigm, Shadow. That is the only important thing. Oh, by the way, I was sorry to hear about your wife. Tough break. So I will ask again. What is it Wednesday is up to? You’re saying that you don’t know? Would you tell me even if you did? Well, then why the fuck am I wasting my time sitting here talking to you? Kill him. We’re not just going to kill you, Shadow. We’re going to delete you. One click, and you are overwritten. Undelete– that is not an option.” — Technical Boy

Mr. Nancy, Anansi

“Oh, she long dead. She wouldn’t give it up for Johannes up there so he threw her off the boat. Did you know your momma couldn’t swim? You all need to work on that. Take swimming lessons. This is how we get stereotypes. You want help? Fine. Let me tell you a story. ‘Once upon a time, a man got fucked.’ Now, how is that for a story? ‘Cause that’s the story of black people in America. Shit, you all don’t know you black yet. You think you just people. Let me be the first to tell you that you are all black. The moment these Dutch motherfuckers set foot here and decided they white, and you get to be black, and that’s the nice name they call you… let me paint a picture of what’s waiting for you on the shore. You arrive in America, land of opportunity, milk and honey, and guess what? You all get to be slaves. Split up, sold off, and worked to death. The lucky ones get Sunday off to sleep and fuck and make more slaves and all for what? For cotton? Indigo? For a fucking purple shirt? The only good news is the tobacco your grandkids are gonna farm for free is gonna give a shitload of these white motherfuckers cancer. And I ain’t even started yet. A hundred years later. You’re fucked. A hundred years after that. Fucked. A hundred years after you get free, you still getting fucked out a job and shot at by police. You see what I’m saying? This guy gets it. I like him. He’s getting angry. Angry is good. Angry gets shit done. You shed tears for Compé Anansi, and here he is, telling you you are staring down the barrel of 300 years of subjugation, racist bullshit and heart disease. He is telling you there isn’t one goddamn reason you shouldn’t go up there right now and slit the throats of every last one of these Dutch motherfuckers and set fire to this ship! You already dead, asshole. At least die a sacrifice for something worthwhile. Let the motherfucker burn! Let it all burn!” — Mr. Nancy

Anubis

“No mistake. You are to come with me, Mrs. Fadil. You have died, Mrs. Fadil. And it is time for you to come with me. I wish I was but a thief. I am not. I am of Death. You are dead, Mrs. Fadil. That is you. Your family will come soon and find you. They will do right by your body and bury you as is proper. They will be sad for a time, then they will find happiness again. Your Assaf will marry in a year and name his first daughter for you. A bullshit middle name. It is my thanks. You were once a girl with your own Tita. Who taught you the ways of Egypt old, of when the Nile was full and flooding. she told you stories of the Wolf and the Jackal, the Red Wind, and of the Child of Bast. You do. For that, I bring you to the Scales. Come. It is perfect. Come. This is not Queens. We shall see if you have used it well. Your best is good. Each will take you to the Du’at. The Du’at has many worlds. Choose. Choose.” — Anubis

Mr. Ibis

“They were hungry, of course, having made their way through their stories of dried meat and salt fish days ago, even though carefully, professionally rationed. To a man they were expert seamen, yet no expertise can surmount a sea that does not wish you to reach shore. until finally… celebration was cut short. The land reached was barren, rocky. No food, no shelter. Only biting insects and snakes. When they set off, they dreamt of the riches they would accumulate, the fat-breasted women they would send for. Their dreams changed to bread, roasted meats. Even a salad would do. Gods. They did not yet have a word in their language for ‘miserable.’ They would have to invent one. It was time to leave this accursed land, but their sails hung flabby as Grandmother’s teat. The wind did not wish them to leave. They were becalmed astride hell. Lucky they knew wind can be reasoned with. The All-Father could intercede with the wind on their behalf, but they feared he would not know to look this far from home. They would have to make him look. But still… no wind. It was obvious now what was required. After all, their god was a war god. They left in a hurry, not bothering to sew their wounds or burn the dead. And when they reached their home shores, not one of them ever set foot in a boat or spoke of that new world ever again. Over 100 years later, when Leif the Fortunate, son of Erik the Red, would rediscover that land, he found is god waiting… along with his war.” — Narrator

“The gods are great. But people are greater. For it is in their hearts that gods are born, and to their hearts that they return.” — Narrator

Mr. World

Easter, Goddess of Spring

Me? What am I doing? Oh, just hanging out with gods and mortals at the House on the Rock. Why, yes, that is the Biggest Carousel in the World. Nothing special. (YES, IT WAS AMAZING. YES, IT WAS AS AMAZING AS YOU WOULD THINK.) @GodsOnAmazon@AmericanGodsSTZpic.twitter.com/BhLEPLTp7d